


Unpicking

by Aris



Series: Marvel One Shots [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, Loki's Lips Sewn Shut, Suggested eating disorder, protective!tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris/pseuds/Aris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki can't help himself, he comes to Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unpicking

"What do you mean, he's hurt?" Tony just shook his head and beckoned once more towards the door. Bruce sighed and rubbed his head, feeling his hair spring back up under his hand. It was 3am in the goddamn morning and considering he'd slunk back to his room from the lab at a generous 1am, the disturbance to his already erratic sleeping patterns was far from welcome. He stood and reached for the cupboard where his clothes were but Tony placed a hand on his wrist, shaking his head quickly.

"We don't have time Bruce. Please. He's... it's really bad, Bruce. He's not going to die but..." Tony's face wavered for a moment as he said this and Bruce quickly caught up with the unspoken message. He was in pain.

Sighing, he followed Tony to where the lifts were, and with a few murmured words to Jarvis they ascended to the main floor. Bruce felt vaguely self conscious in just his boxers and a shirt, though no more so than Tony should be feeling - Stark, in an equal state of undress, merely fidgeted and tapped his fingers impatiently against the glass wall; apparently having no care about how he appeared. He looked far from his usually calm and composed self and the realisation unsettled Bruce deeply.

Was it really that bad?

The lift doors slid fluidly open and Bruce was met with the sight of an over-lit lounge, lights apparently on a glaring 100%, and the back of a figure sitting on one of the longer sofas. He cast a sideway glance at Tony, it suddenly occurring to him to ask why, if he was so injured, he was in here rather than the medical room, but stopped short as Tony was already gone from his side in a flick of a shadow. Frowning, for what seemed like the sixth time already tonight, Bruce approached the figure and to where Tony now kneeled, face leant in towards the man.

"See? I brought Bruce. No-one else. He's going to... he's going to fix this, okay? Just. It'll be out soon." His voice was quiet and oddly comforting, a tone not often heard from a Stark, and Tony looked up imploringly at Bruce, eyes desperate and a certain fear Bruce had seen once too often decorating his sharp features.

Bruce rounded the sofa.

_"Fuck."_

Loki's lips were sewn shut. Actually sewn shut - the string bridging his thin lips a sickly scarlet with the blood that dripped from the puncture marks evenly gorged into each side of his lips. Dried blood ran down the lower half of his face and fresher liquid was quickly joining it; welling into small buds and slipping down well-followed tracks. His skin was an unnatural white contrast again the shocking red, and it only served to make him look iller. Emptier. His cheek bones jutted forth from his skin in a way Banner could only call painful, and the lights cast a bruise-like shadow below the sharp bone, further exaggerating the look of emaciation. He quickly glanced down to the rest of Loki's body and was met with the worrying sight of sagging clothing and a visible outline of a knee-cap through a hole in what what appeared to be the ragged remains of Loki's armour. 

_"Fuck."_

"Can you - can you get it off? I was going to but... didn't want to hurt him... Please, Bruce, tell me you can do this." Banner lowered himself to the floor in front of the silent God, taking in his bloodshot, half lidded eyes and the slight tremble to his long fingers as they dug into the pillow next to him. The God's eyes were now carefully closed against the world.

"Tony, get the scissors from the kitchen." Stark was up and gone in seconds, anxious to help in any way he could. Banner reached forward hesitantly, touching the pad of his fingers against the thread locking Loki's lips together. Loki flinched away, eyes momentarily open and wide with panic, but quickly brought his head back, fingers now turning white with the force they exerted on the poor fabric between them. 

Though, Bruce was more willing to think of Loki as the victim in this situation.

Tony returned and set the scissors into Bruce's hand, kneeling down next to him and brushing his hand to Loki's where it was instantly grasped. Bruce ignored how Loki was supposed to be the enemy, not a hand-holding victim of what looked like a very specific torture, and took his chin gently in his hand. Bruce wondered who had done this to him, and why he couldn't remove the thread himself, given the prowess of his magical abilities he constantly boasted of. 

"Try not to move."

An annoyed outtake of air escaped Loki, almost as if to say _'really'_ and it was so like the Loki he was used to, arrogant and quick-witted, Bruce had a take a second to think over _why_ he was helping the enemy before gently sliding the scissors between Loki's lips - one blade below the thread and another above. He was doing this because Loki was in pain and not trying to take over the world (again); he was doing this because Tony was worried and there was clearly something going on between them Tony hadn't fucking told him about and when this was over he was going to sit down and explain exactly why the God of Mischief was in their apartment at 3am with a pretty pattern sealing his words in and why he seemed to comfortable to hold Tony's hand. 

But for now, he cut through the thread.

It was surprisingly easy, he had been expecting some ultra-tough material he'd have to end up using a laser on, and he moved onto to cut all the other strings with little effort. Loki's warm breath spilled out onto his hand and Bruce purposely didn't look up. He went to pull the threads from where they still hung in the holes just outside his lips but long fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping him in his movement.

"Allow me."

Loki's fingers were graceful and slim, it made sense he should be the one to pull them out, but the sickening familiarity in which he did the job sent a chill down Bruce's spine. He deftly picked at each thread and the tiny knots keeping them lodged in like he'd done this a million times, confiscating the bloodied thread onto the floor of Tony's lounge. Tony didn't seem to mind, instead watching Loki work through the remaining thread intently.

The last thread fell to the floor.

Silence reigned.

The God was still pale, the dark under his eyes without an ending depth and the blood was now hurrying to greet the air, eager to fall and twist and drip down to the God's legs and between the gaping gap that separated the boney appendages. His startlingly eyes carefully glared down at his stained hands, as they clenched periodically, digging his nails into the soft skin of his palms and bringing up more blood to seep into the intricate folds of his long hands.

"Thank you, Tony... Bruce." He added Bruce's name on as an after-thought, though he stared straight into Bruce's eyes, face curious amid the scarlet stains and haunted shadows.

Tony reached out to to touch the God's hand once more but in the next moment Loki was gone from his place, Tony's hand suspended in mid air, reaching towards a non-existent destination. He looked to the small puddle of blood and the curling red threads littering the floor where Loki had sat, pale and bleeding. He tried for a smile, the faked humour not quite making it to his eyes.

"Looks like we're going to have to clean this up."


End file.
